


Bound in Blood

by wargoddess



Series: A Family Affair [16]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Animalistic, Bloodplay, First Kiss, First Time, Incest, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 14:03:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20047249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess
Summary: The first time that Dante and Vergil meet again, after their mother's death and ten years of each thinking the other dead, Vergil promptly defeats Dante in battle. He lets Dante live... but he is owed something for this generosity.





	Bound in Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the warning: very much rapey, because Vergil's rapey at this stage of things, and Dante's not really at "incest is ok" yet (though this changes). For a prompt via Tumblr: "I'd like to see the first time that Vergil alludes to [in "A Brother's Comfort"]." Sorry, but that time wasn't pretty. It does get better later.
> 
> The "underage" tag is just because Vergil implies he's done something like this before, with humans and demons, and the twins are only 18 at this point, so...

Vergil walks into the ugly, nameless business that his brother has opened, and finds Dante sitting at the front desk waiting for him.

Not obviously. There's nothing Dante's doing that he doesn't always do. He's sitting shirtless with his feet up, tipped back in his chair, an open bottle of whiskey nearby, an open box of pizza just beyond that. There's an ashtray in front of him which is made of half a Sin Scissor's mask; in it lies a half-smoked blunt. But there's no surprise in Dante's gaze as he watches Vergil approach. He's tapping one toe in time with the obnoxious music pounding forth from the corner jukebox, but there's something about that tapping toe that feels impatient. He smiles when Vergil comes in, as if they have not been separated for ten years, and as if their reunion has not been marred by a brutal battle. As if he's actually glad to see his big brother, and his smile is Vergil's welcome home.

Vergil stops in front of the desk and takes in the pizza, the drugs, the alcohol. He turns, trailing fingertips along the desk's surface. This alone earns his approval; the desk is heavy old black wood, with a faintly reddish patina and ornately-carved details. Solid strength beneath superficial foolishness. "Why do you bother?" Vergil asks. His fingers brush the lip of the whiskey bottle. It takes staggering quantities of human narcotics to affect them. Demons thrive on stronger stuff.

Dante shrugs. "Why not?" His eyes track Vergil, even as he bobs his head to the music. That's good. He treats Vergil like a threat. Vergil likes that. "Here for the amulet, then?"

"I can take that from you whenever I want -- and I don't want it right now." The jukebox's music is pure noise, but he ignores it. Anything else would give Dante the satisfaction of having irritated him. "Perhaps I just wanted to see you, dear brother."

Dante laughs with the warm intimacy of an inside joke between them. _Don't be silly. You can't possibly give a shit_. But the tapping of his toe is too rapid, now, to be on the beat. Restless. It matches the restlessness that has been growing in Vergil since their battle. Vergil's moving around the desk, behind it, and Dante turns the desk chair to watch him as he does, eventually uncrossing his ankles and dropping one leg to the floor. Now he faces Vergil with his legs obscenely spread apart, his smirk more obvious. Is it deliberate, the way his whole posture has become subtly inviting? Does he sense the _particular_ threat that Vergil poses right now, or is he merely braced for anything? 

"Well," Dante says, spreading his arms. "Here I am."

"Yes." And Vergil is done with words.

He lunges. Dante's ready for it. With the foot that's on the desk, he slams his heel on the demonskull ashtray. The ashtray has horns at one end; it flies at Vergil's face with superhuman force, at the precise angle needed to take his eyes out. Vergil spins to dodge it, in the same movement sweeping Yamato in its sheath toward Dante's face. As Vergil has anticipated, Dante tips the chair all the way over in order to roll back. Vergil kicks the chair to flip it, then slams it down hard enough that its legs crack or sink a few inches into the softer wood of the floor -- around Dante's arms, two legs at his armpits and two on either side of his head. Incredibly, Dante laughs. He's only lightly pinned and can get free easily to continue this fight, but he doesn't bother. Is he acknowledging Vergil's strength? No; he isn't fighting back particularly hard because this is a game to him. Everything is fun to him, the lucky one, Mother's favorite, the one she bothered to save.

In a flash Vergil bats the chair aside and falls on Dante himself, dropping Yamato in its sheath across Dante's throat. He uses both hands, but he's careful as he crushes Dante's larynx and flattens his carotid, watching while Dante's eyes roll back, dropping a knee on his middle when he struggles too hard. The larynx will heal. Dante can probably handle catastrophic oxygen deprivation to the brain just fine, too, but Vergil is mindful of the fact that Dante's demon is not yet awake. Will Vergil wake it tonight? Perhaps. Until then, Dante is somewhat more fragile than Vergil. And Vergil might despise Dante, but he does not want his little brother dead -- not yet, anyway. They have business to finish, first.

When Dante has been reduced to twitching unconsciousness, Vergil lifts Yamato, sets it respectfully aside, and begins yanking off Dante's crassly functional pants and boots. Commando underneath. Of course. But as Dante's flesh is bared, Vergil pauses for a moment, belly clenching, thoughts roiling in the deepest pit of his mind. It cannot be denied that his little brother is beautiful -- but he is also shockingly _different_. They were identical as children, but no longer: Dante's chest is just a little broader, his waist not quite as long as Vergil's. Are they actually fraternal? Could it be epigenetic drift? Vergil's not sure that means anything when demonic DNA is involved. Dante's skin is just a touch darker, in too all-over a way to be merely a tan. Vergil puts out a hand to follow the delicate wisps of hair below his brother's navel downward, fascinated despite himself. Vergil is bare, here. Different cock too -- Dante's is a little longer, not as thick. Vergil's lips are dry. He licks them, reflexively.

Then he stands up and yanks off his coat, never taking his eyes off Dante while he undresses. By the time Dante begins to stir, Vergil is already fucking him. It's awkward and it hurts, surprisingly; should have at least used spit. It's the first time he's ever fucked another man in human form and he doesn't know what he's doing. Then, too, he wants to cause pain. He wants Dante to bleed. They are demon, and Vergil has defeated him in battle without taking his life. The laws of the demon realm are harsh, but clear. Vergil is owed something else in recompense, and what he wants are his brother's screams.

Still, after the first few thrusts, he balls up his brother's pants and shoves them under him and repositions them, using the weight of his own body to pin Dante when he coughs and starts to struggle. Much better, this. Now it reminds him of their battle -- blades sliding against each other, bodies colliding, sweat and breath misting the air. Contempt turning to admiration as Dante, the happy-go-lucky wastrel, proved his mettle. So strong, Vergil's little brother, even without an inner demon for an ally. Such spirit. He can feel Dante's strength now as he flails and curses, and it is bliss to master this, angling to counter his struggles and laughing in his ear when he fails. He, Vergil, is the stronger brother, and Dante's every gasp and muffled _sonofabitch get off me_ proves it. Yet despite being the weaker, Dante is a prize among demons. Vergil _needs_ to be the one who wins him.

But there is more to doing so than mere physical dominance.

"Did you feel it, too, brother?" he breathes in Dante's ear, while Dante pants and -- struggles? He pushes up against Vergil and that only makes it easier to fuck him. Either Dante is a fool, or... Vergil's breath roughens, his fingers tightening where they hold down Dante's clenched fist. No clenching down below, though, and there's no more pain; Dante has relaxed and opened up for him. There has been so little pleasure in his life. To find it here... 

"The joy of fighting a worthy opponent at last," he pants. "When you lost, did it excite you? Did you _want_ to become mine?"

"Fuck you," Dante grunts. His voice breaks on the second word. His free hand, which Vergil has permitted because his useless flailing is a turn-on, has scored parallel lines in the wooden floor. Not claws, not yet; just raw strength. Dante can fight back harder than this, can't he? It's telling that he doesn't. In a sudden fever, Vergil pushes Dante's head down and bites the back of his neck. There's still no proper scent of submission, just sweat and fear and anger, and Vergil growls in frustration -- ah, but yes. Vergil changes his angle, slides a hand under Dante, testing further. "Get _off_ me!" Dante shouts at the floor, but this is a lie. No submission but plenty of lust and pleasure in his scent, beneath the ferocity and entwined in it. His cock in Vergil's hand is as hard as Yamato's sheath. 

Well. So's Vergil. "More, then," Vergil breathes, and pulls free to flip Dante over.

It's illuminating, facing Dante while he fucks him. He's got his little brother bent almost double, legs hooked over his arms so that Vergil can hold his hands down and ride his sweet ass unhindered. Dante isn't struggling anymore, though. His cock is thick and dribbling a little precum onto his belly, and the sight makes Vergil's mouth water. When he's done, maybe. Dante watches Vergil through a screen of sweat-drenched, too-long hair -- and the demon in Vergil hisses in delight, because even if Dante has stopped fighting him, there is nothing cowed in that blue-gray glare. Quite the opposite. _Ohhh, we have never had such prey. He is everything we've ever desired..._

"Never f-figured you for a perv," Dante grits out. "This is... hnh, ah... your idea of a f-family reunion? Ahn, God, shit... What's next, you... find Father and shove your d-dick in his mouth?"

"Our father is dead," Vergil says. He's shut his eyes, trying to pace himself. Otherwise he's going to come just from that look in Dante's eyes. "And if Sparda were still around to defeat, then yes, I might have done exactly that afterward." And before Dante gets the notion to spout any more human nonsense, Vergil leans over him, close enough to breathe in his face. "We are _demon,_ Dante. Like it or not, you _need_ this." Deliberately he reaches down to caress Dante's marvelous cock, and in the span of a breath Dante's expression goes from defiant to blissful, pleading. His teeth are clenched -- holding back a moan, Vergil suspects. Vergil grins. "I'm the best fuck you've ever had."

He's sure of this, because Dante is the best fuck _he's_ ever had. God, it's exquisite. He should've done this years ago, instead of wasting himself on humans out of curiosity and boredom. He's had a few demons, and those were better, but nothing's been as good as what he's getting right now.

Dante lets out a low laugh that ends in a long, drawn-out groan. "We gotta g-get you laid more," he pants.

Vergil grabs his hair and bends as close as he can, growling at the rich invitation that thickens Dante's scent now. Dante twists against Vergil's grip, but Vergil angles in from the side and gently touches his teeth to Dante's throat. With a soft, startled gasp, Dante shudders violently beneath him and bares his teeth. Fighting the urge to offer submission, Vergil reads in all this twitching. The urge must be powerful indeed if it torments him so.

"Yes," Vergil breathes. Vergil wants him again already -- always, night after night. How strange to lust for more even as he is buried in his brother as deeply as possible. He wants more than fucking; he wants _ownership_. "_You_ must get me laid more, I think."

Dante laughs again, breathlessly. Then with blurring speed he lunges up, nearly head-butting Vergil. Vergil jerks back just in time, his whole body ringing with adrenaline and recognition; Dante's gaze is red-tinged, and there is something disturbingly less than sane in his expression. The demon inside him isn't awake, but it's stirring. Closer to the surface of him than it was. Right there beneath his skin.

"But you won't always win, Verg," Dante says, his voice flanged and deeper. His grin is ferocious. _He_ is ferocious, and magnificent.

_Yessss,_ whispers the dragon that is Vergil's soul, with uncharacteristic eagerness. _He is more than worthy of us. But his nature is perverse. Demand equals denial._

Vergil freezes despite himself. He's panting, dripping sweat, on the brink. Fucking Dante just feels too good. Dante groans when he stops, cursing and pushing his heels into Vergil's ass with inarguable demand -- but yes. This is what Vergil's demon means. He has tried to hurt Dante, to force his capitulation as the victor of their battle, and Dante will die before he gives Vergil that. One moment of peace in the storm, however, and Dante is ready to kill Vergil if he does _not_ resume. Demand equals denial. 

What would equal acceptance?

Vergil bends. Dante's actually lifting his hips to fuck himself on Vergil's cock; amazing. He bares his teeth at Vergil. "What's the m-matter, brother? Blow your wad already? You can't even give me that much, you fucking -- "

Vergil shakes his head, lifting a hand to stroke the damp hair back from Dante's face. Dante goes silent; Vergil senses his sudden surprise. "Everything of me is already yours, Dante," Vergil says.

Dante's eyes widen, just a little. Some of the savagery and hate recedes from his expression. And though Vergil meant it only as a manipulation, a stimulus to elicit the desired response, something in him clenches when Dante's gaze scours his face, full of wariness and anger but also... hope? Foolishness. He hates Dante, and Dante cares for nothing but himself. There can be only this between them. No reason to hope.

But when Vergil bends to Dante again, lifting one of his thighs and delving into him and breathing hard against his throat, intoxicating himself with that hot, perfect scent... Dante shifts a little. His free hand slides up Vergil's back. Vergil tenses, shocked at himself for having forgotten the danger of that hand -- but Dante does not use it to tear at him. His nails scrape at Vergil's skin, too human and not sharp enough, a torment -- but Vergil finds himself breathing harder, rocking faster, just from this touch. Dante's fingers thread into his hair. Vergil's fucking him harder now, groaning raggedly with each movement, his rhythm beginning to falter, his limbs shaking with incipient orgasm...

...and Dante lifts his chin aside, very deliberately, to offer his throat. His hand cups Vergil's head and tugs, gently.

God.

Vergil loses control. He lunges for Dante and bites him with sharp teeth and shouts against his neck as Dante's blood floods his mouth and pleasure floods his mind and somewhere deep in the other-space of souls, the dragon's brassy roar is matched by the low, half-awake, earthquake-deep growl of something even more monstrous, stirring enough to welcome him before subsiding into the dark again. (But it waits for him there. It always will. He knows this instinctively.) Then comes a profound silence, ringing through Vergil's mind and body like a great bell-toll, except it isn't silence at all. It's a climax so powerful that for a moment, it blots out everything but pleasure. He forgets his name, and Dante's name. He forgets that he hates this man, his twin, his other half. He forgets that they are halves and not whole -- because in that moment, they _are_ whole. Dante is his. He is Dante's. For an endless instant they are what they should always have been, what they cannot help but be if they don't fight it at every turn, and he does not hate Dante, he cannot, he's _tried_, God help him. God --

_God._

Then the silence fades and Vergil is licking Dante's bloody throat, he is grinding them together, he is still shuddering through the last throes of the best orgasm he's ever felt in his life, and even then it isn't complete because Dante is making broken, sobbing sounds, and Vergil cannot bear his twin's distress. He withdraws and scrambles back on tingling limbs and Dante's cock is almost quivering, so hard is it, completely unrelieved. Vergil takes his brother into his mouth and swallows him down and it takes only a second before Dante buries his hands in Vergil's hair and shouts a hoarse "OH SHIT" to the dusty rafters hard enough to make a few spiders fall out of their webs. Dante falls silent after that, bucking in voiceless ecstasy, and in Vergil's mouth he tastes of salt and bitter musk and sorrow and something indefinable that Vergil finds himself drinking down greedily. When Dante subsides into gasping, Vergil keeps at him, sucking forth every droplet, stroking his cock for the last, until Dante curses and bats weakly at his face to get him to stop. Vergil ignores this, but there's nothing left anyway, so he stops. He licks his lips even after he sits up -- but he is satisfied. Dante lies in a sprawl beneath him, gasping, his bloodied throat still healing, a dissolute wreck. That perfect scent of his, however, has become even more perfect. Vergil bends again and breathes it from his belly: yes. He is Vergil's, now and forevermore.

He can't help himself then. He kisses Dante.

Dante makes a small sound -- more surprise than protest. His mouth opens, however. When Vergil sends his tongue forth, Dante meets it, and then they entwine in each other, lost in silence again. It is the first time Vergil's ever kissed anyone, and it is magnificent.

But no. No. This is not how it's supposed to be. With a growl of frustration, Vergil wrenches himself away, then makes himself get to his feet to start dressing. It's hard, doing this. His demon hisses and pushes at him, wanting to lay further claim. He contents it and himself with planning tomorrow night's ravishment. He will walk in and backhand Dante if his twin so much as smirks at him, and then he will take him over that nice sturdy desk. Maybe, if Dante won't shut up, he'll fuck Dante's mouth -- because Dante is his, _his_, he owes his twin pain and despair, he will drive home the fact of Dante's weakness and defeat and surrender with every blow and then he will make them one again. He will _take_ that moment of perfect bliss that he has never found elsewhere, that he never knew he needed, that he wants from no one else because no one else _matters_, only his beautiful Dante, he will be Dante's until he dies and beyond --

Vergil flinches in the middle of putting on his coat. 

Dante, who has recovered somewhat, pushes himself up off the floor to flop back against the desk. He's exhausted and bloodied. Vergil's come smears the floor between his thighs, and Vergil's scent marks him now in a way that any demon would acknowledge: he's Vergil's bitch. But he's grinning as he reaches for the blunt, which lies scattered amid ashes on the floor. There's a lighter a couple of feet away from Dante's left heel. He lifts that heel and slams it down; the floorboard jolts hard enough to toss the lighter into the air; he catches it and lights up, with a long slow puff, which he holds in his chest for a moment. As he lets it out, he eyes Vergil, his gaze too knowing, before turning the blunt around and offering it to him with a lift of one eyebrow.

Vergil turns sharply to leave. Dante's soft chuckle follows him out. "See you tomorrow, then," Dante drawls, and Vergil not-hates him just that much more.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this one was... not as fun to write as usual. I did try to insert some seeds of what we see later between D&V and then D&V&N, but end of day, this particular Vergil is a horrible person -- who knows he's horrible, embraces it, and in fact holds horribleness around himself as a shield. Dante, of course, sees right through his bullshit... but Dante's got his own issues, at this point.
> 
> I had to read the DMC3 manga to prepare for this fic! The manga is... not very good. Kind of incoherent, in fact. I wasn't sure what was going on at any given point, and I had to read a summary to explain it. Which basically meant I wasted my money getting the manga. Oh, well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
> 
> The one good thing I have to say about the manga is that there's a point where someone tells Vergil that he and Dante are twins who should have been a single being -- and that because they exist as they are, Sparda's power is halved between them. That one line in the manga explains Vergil's hostility better than anything the games have managed so far -- in an existential sense, given that Vergil is the older son, Dante stole Vergil's inheritance. Then again, the manga also insinuates that Dante spends a lot of free time rough-fucking local bar girls and complaining that his cock is too big, so... I'm not sure how much of it to take as canon. I think I'll take the existential angst, leave the giant cock.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [【授翻】Bound in Blood/血缘羁绊 3VD](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20858621) by [yinge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yinge/pseuds/yinge)


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